It Took a Brave Heart

« Return to Scotland

After several unsuccessful attempts to secure lodging (one receptionist actually laughed at my planning ineptitude), I made my way to the old Film House to see a collection of the year’s best music videos. Hey, art is in the eye of the beholder, and more importantly, so was Gwen Stefani. Some of the directors spoke about their work, and this opportunity for feedback with creators is what makes any arts festival so worthwhile. Everywhere I went, people spoke about some show or another, and thus word-of-mouth establishes the Festival’s must-sees. I bought a ticket to show whose name had come up a few times, and although critically acclaimed, it left me colder than the pint I followed it with.

Walking back towards High Street, I bumped into a promoter who, as a form of apology, cheerfully gave me a pass to what became one of the highlights of the festival. If you bounce around like a pinball long enough, you’re bound to hit a jackpot. With no place to stay and having seen eight free shows throughout the day, Edinburgh might seem like a homeless travelers dream. Especially when one can fortuitously bump into people. I ran into the train volunteers I had met earlier and they offered a welcome wooden floor for the night. No complaints from me whatsoever, with the bonus of receiving an authentic Scottish welcome, meeting the locals, and all the other stuff Lonely Planet swears is essential for any legitimate travel experience.

The next morning I caught a bus to the Modern Art Galley, which seemed like a very cultural thing to do. A Surrealism Exhibition featured masterful Magritte, and painted the perfect warped landscape to the rest of my day. The weather had turned by the time I made my way up to Edinburgh Castle, shrouding it in mist. I explored the grounds, accidentally wandering into a play taking place in a closet, and soaked up the history with a few shots of scotch (not be confused with bourbon) on a, ahem, whiskey tour. Tickets to shows ranged from cheap to expensive, and I was fast discovering that unfortunately, you get what you pay for. Still, talent has to start somewhere and homeless backpackers are usually there to support them.

An accent can sometimes bluff you into events - usually events that originate from wherever your accent originates. I found myself at a South African show featuring township jive mixed into techno, a stab at acid jazz that left my ears bleeding. It all paid off with an invitation to the press bar, where members of the media gather late at night to discuss the day’s events, but mostly just to get drunk. A transvestite performer crashed the party, screaming about her show that everyone must attend. Security quickly escorted her out and I bravely agreed with a BBC Theatre Critic that the press bar isn’t “just for everyone.” By 3am, the bar was emptied and only then did I realize I had no idea how to find the volunteers who gave me a floor last night. And thus I found myself at the other end of a bobbie’s baton, shivering on a cement bench in a park at the foot of the castle. Wet, hungry and hung-over, but chock full of culture.

I do my best to boycott MacDonalds when traveling, as unless they served McHaggis, there is nothing authentic in its red and yellow dining experience. However, many a life has been saved by a 6am trip to the MacDonalds washrooms, and mine was no exception. My train was due to depart that evening, and I managed to catch a fantastic show by a troupe of French mimes, answering the age-old question: If you shoot a mime, do you use a silencer? The Festival itself was winding down, although offshoots like the Children’s Festival and Comedy Festival and Children’s Comedy Festival would continue for weeks to come. Regardless to say, the Edinburgh Festival can be enjoyed with scant budget and planning, although unless you like sleeping on park benches it’s worth checking out the official website (http://www.eif.co.uk/) and planning a little beforehand.

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